The One Where Logan Loses His Clothes
by cattyk8
Summary: He realizes he's just died. Of course. He's in the ocean, about twelve, fifteen feet down. Of course. He's naked. Of course. Because his timing always did suck nasty, hairy balls. Of course. An S4 fix-it fic. Part of "The Ones Where Logan Lives" series originally posted on AO3.


**The One Where Logan Loses His Clothes  
**by cattyk8

* * *

**SUMMARY:**

He realizes he's just _died_. Of course. He's in the ocean, about twelve, fifteen feet down. Of course. He's naked. Of course. Because his timing always did suck nasty, hairy balls. Of course.

An S4 fix-it fic. Part of "The Ones Where Logan Lives" series originally posted on AO3.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

_This is more of a fusion than a crossover, meaning worldbuilding of one fandom (in this case, the short-lived 2014 TV show Forever) is applied to the world and characters of another (Veronica Mars). In Forever, the main character cannot die; instead, at the moment of death, his life flashes before his eyes and then he inexplicably is displaced and finds himself in the nearest body of water, stark naked._

_Also, some surfer slang:_  
_• Quimby: inexperienced, annoying surfer_  
_• Bail or Bail out: Jump off the surfboard to avoid a wipeout_

_**Trigger Warning:** As you may have gathered from the information above, this fic features major (if temporary) character death._

* * *

He thinks he hears her shout his name.

Like a flower to the sun, his body starts to turn back toward the apartment, toward her. Toward home. But then the world erupts into heat and light, and he doesn't have the time to breathe, much less curse, before his life is flashing before his eyes and everything goes silent.

For a moment, at least.

And then his eyes snap open. He realizes he's just _died_. Of course.

He's in the ocean, about twelve, fifteen feet down. Of course.

He's naked. Of course.

Because his timing always did suck nasty, hairy balls. Of course.

He would curse, if he didn't want to chance drowning. Dying, again, would be a bitch.

So instead he kicks his legs, forces his arms into well-practiced strokes, and heads for the surface. He breaks it and takes a deep breath of not-quite-warm-but-getting-there California air.

Another breath, and he looks around. He's not far from home, having surfaced just off the shore from the beach across from their apartment, only a couple blocks north of their actual frontage.

"Hey, Quimby, get out of the way!" someone yells from behind him.

Logan dives quickly and narrowly misses getting brained by a surfboard. After a moment, he surfaces again, and he sees a familiar blonde surfer paddling his way. "Dick? What are you doing here?"

"Trying not to think about the fact that my dad got _pfft_!" His best friend makes a slashing motion across his throat. "And since we're talking about it, dude, what the fuck? I almost killed you! You could be fucking dead right now!"

_You have no idea_, Logan thinks. But he is reminded of the fact that he _did_ just die. And he realizes Veronica, his _wife_, is probably out of her mind right now.

So he does what his training has taught him, shoves his shock and bemusement aside in favor of assessing the situation and determining his immediate goals. First: get back to Veronica. Next—

"Logan. Dude. Are you okay?" Dick is looking at him with a combination of confusion and concern. Then, "Are you _naked_?"

Okay, first: get some clothes. Next: get back to Veronica. "Yeah," he says with a grimace. "Had to bail so I wouldn't wipe out, then caught a riptide. Thought I was a goner for a while, but managed to get back. Unfortunately, I seem to have lost my board. And my shorts. Any chance you can help a guy out? I've got to get back to Veronica."

"Yeah, bet Ronnie's pissed you went surfing right after getting hitched. I've got a spare pair of board shorts in my truck." Dick stares at him for a moment, then gets off his board. "Here, take my board. I'll swim back and get you some threads so you don't bare your ass to half of Neptune. Told ya those little blue trunks you wear would get you in deep shit one day." He huffs out a laugh.

"Thanks, man." Logan is grateful not just for the promise of clothing, but the fact that Dick Casablancas isn't really big on questioning the whys and wherefores of life. Like why his friend has turned up stark naked in the ocean on his wedding day with a cock-and-bull story about bailing out when they both know Logan's never had a problem surfing of any of Neptune's beaches in the entire time he's lived here.

Dick unstraps the safety cord from his ankle (and thankfully doesn't ask why Logan's board wasn't similarly leashed, if he'd really been surfing) and tells him, "I'll be right back."

Logan clings to the board and uses his friend's departure to regroup. It's an insane bit of luck that the surfer who nearly ran him over is none other than his best friend, and that Dick seems to have bought the story he came up with on the fly. He knows he hasn't a hope of coming up with a story that the other blonde in his life won't poke a million holes through.

But, really, what is he supposed to tell her? _Yes, the bomb blew up, and I died, but I didn't stay dead. Instead I woke up naked in the ocean._ It might be the truth, but Logan suspects she'd ask him if he needs to see his psychiatrist to get his meds adjusted before they leave for their honeymoon. Or maybe just have him committed.

He makes a face. This is, what? His eighth death now? His first had been back in college, during the worst of his dark period. He'd overdosed on drugs and alcohol and awoken just off a beach not unlike this one. At the time, he'd believed he'd jumped naked into the water while drunk and high. It was only later, when his plane had taken a hit while on a mission and he'd died as it crashed into the Persian Gulf, only to wake up within swimming distance of the port of Dammam, that he'd realized he'd first died in college.

The Navy had clued in after his fourth death. He'd been transported to a hush-hush facility and had submitted to a gamut of tests conducted by doctors and scientists who'd tried to find out the reason he couldn't seem to die. He'd had his fifth and sixth deaths under their "care," and hadn't that been a barrel of laughs? And he still didn't have any answers.

But then an admiral with more ribbons on his chest than Logan had ever seen on a single person had walked in and claimed him for Naval Intelligence. And the temporary nature of his mortality had become a state secret.

Well. He's known he would have to tell Veronica about it sometime. And now that they're legally married, it'll give him more of a leg to stand on if he's questioned about why he's read her in. Exigent circumstances would probably cover the rest; it's not like he'd planned to be blown up by a psychotic pizza guy—he's realized the bomb could only have been a parting gift from Penn Epner.

Logan's problem now is how to tell his brand-new wife that (1) he's kept a secret from her basically their entire adult relationship, and (2) there's a distinct possibility that the whole "growing old and dying with you" part won't actually be possible in their marriage, at least on his end.

Then of course, there's the whole getting-her-to-believe-him thing, although he supposes he could just stab himself in the heart after extracting her promise to deliver some clothes to him back here. Or something similarly dramatic. Veronica has always worked best with proof-by-demonstration.

"Dude, have you frozen your nuts off yet?"

Dick's voice (and splashing as he approaches) breaks Logan out of his reverie, and he realizes that, yes, he actually _is_ freaking freezing. "Yeah," he said. "Got shorts for me so I can get out of here without getting arrested for public indecency?"

His friend laughs. "Yeah, dude. I gotcha." Dick tosses a sodden pair of boardshorts his way, and Logan quickly slips them on.

"Thanks, man. Really. I owe you one."

"No problemo."

The two men make their way back to shore, and Dick offers him a spare T-shirt and a ride home, even if it's only a couple blocks off. When Dick pulls up near Logan's and Veronica's apartment, he stares at the ambulance and police cars parked along the road.

"Dude, did something happen?"

"I'm gonna find out. I'll call you later," Logan said, getting out of the car.

"Want me to go in with you? Check on Ronnie?"

"No, I'll take care of it." Logan pauses, then leans toward the window. "Listen, if anyone asks, do you mind telling them we needed some one-on-one time and went to catch some waves?"

Dick frowns. "Is this gonna be like when Lilly—"

"No," Logan says hastily. "Just, I'm doing some stuff for work. You know, top secret and stuff."

"Ah, gotcha, Jason Bourne." The blond winks. "All righty then, if that's all, I'm gonna make like a moose and vamoose. Got, ya know, people to see, dads to bury. You guys have a good honeymoon."

He's not sure he likes the flippancy in Dick's tone. He recognizes it from the almost manic jolliness his friend exhibited their first year of college, after Cassidy Casablancas had jumped off the roof of the Neptune Grand. "Hey, man, honeymoon or not, call me if you wanna talk, okay?"

"Dude, come on, I'm not gonna do that to you and Ronnie. You finally tied the knot! You've been waiting for this since, like, junior year high school!"

Logan refuses to let his friend deflect. "Be that as it may, promise me you'll call if it gets bad."

"Fine, whatever."

"Promise me."

"I promise, okay? You want me to pinky swear? Braid you a friendship bracelet?"

"Nah. I just want you to call."

"Ugh. Go home to your wife, dude. I'm outta here."

Logan rolls his eyes, but Dick just waves cheerfully and backs out, then drives off. He heads toward the crime scene, where he's barred from going any further by one of the officers. He adopts the bearing he uses at work and says, "This is my apartment. I need to see my wife. We just got married today."

The officer—not one he recognizes—frowns. "Your wife? What's your name?"

"Yes. Veronica Mars. My name is Logan Echolls. Lt. Logan Echolls, Naval Intelligence."

The guy gapes at him. "You're dead. Or that's what the report says. You blew up."

Inwardly, Logan cringes, knowing that's the God's honest truth. But he's an old hand at lying about his deaths by now. "Clearly not. I went surfing." He indicates his still-wet board shorts. "I'd offer ID, but I don't have any on me."

"Your wife says you were in the car when it blew."

"I wasn't. I was supposed to move it, but a friend came by and needed to talk, so we went out to the beach and caught a couple waves." He easily shunts his best friend in as his alibi; after all, as Dick pointed out, it was hardly the first time. The blond surfer had decided to lie to the cops about him being in Mexico at the time of Lilly's murder all those years ago. He puts a little urgency, a little desperation, in his voice. "Please, I need to see my wife. I need to see she's okay." He makes a show of making wide eyes at the wreckage of Veronica's car.

The officer nods and lifts the crime scene tape. "Go directly to the door, and don't touch anything."

But Logan is already striding up the stairs and into his home. The door is wide open, and Veronica is sitting on the couch between Keith and another man—is that Leo? It sure as hell isn't Wallace—and the three of them are talking quietly. The guy beside Veronica rubs her back in soothing circles.

So it'll be easy for Logan to say later that his voice was hoarse and not growly when he utters her name. "Veronica."

All three people on the couch stand up and spin around so fast, it's a wonder they don't give themselves whiplash. Son of a bitch. It _is_ Leo freaking D'Amato. But even as that registers in Logan's brain, his attention has already snapped to Veronica's face. Her tear-drenched eyes, her trembling lips. "Logan?" she whispers. "Y-you're dead. I heard—I heard the bomb go off. You were—"

She brings a tightly clenched fist to her lips, eyes wide, round, haunted.

"I'm okay," he says. "I wasn't in the car." Which is true enough. He has no desire to explain what really happened in front of an audience. Well, maybe Keith might be okay. But not Deputy Leo—and no, Logan doesn't care that the sneaky little jerkface is with the FBI now.

So he steps forward, and suddenly Veronica is running up to him. He reaches for her even as she leaps at him, wrapping her arms and legs around him. "You're real. You're alive. You're _here_," she whispers over and over again.

"Yes," he says. "I'm here."

After several long moments, she draws her head back enough so she can look in his eyes. "How?" she asks.

"I'll explain later," he says, voice low, mouth closed, lips against hers. He kisses her thoroughly, then pulls back. Pitching his voice so it carries to the others in the room, he continues. "Dick came by, needed to talk. I left you a note on the car window that I'd be back in 30 minutes, an hour at most. We went out to the beach, caught a couple waves. I wiped out, and Dick dropped me off. That's when I saw the cop cars."

She frowns, eyes sharp, questioning. He meets her gaze, hoping she'll read the plea in it. She gives him the barest of nods, mouths _later_.

In the meantime, Keith has helpfully explained to Leo that Dick is Dick Casablancas, and that the poor boy's father had been murdered just that week. Then Veronica's dad is suddenly right beside them. "You gave us a scare, son," he says, clapping a hand on Logan's shoulder. "Next time, call or text instead of leaving a note, will you? There's a reason we live in the 21st century."

Logan grimaces. "I will. Sorry I worried you."

His father-in-law shakes his head. "I'm just glad you're all right."

"Thanks, Keith."

"I'm gonna need your statement," Deputy Leo says snidely. "Seems like a shitty thing to do, leaving your wife to go surfing on your wedding day."

Logan opens his mouth to reply, but surprisingly, Veronica glares at the other man. "We weren't leaving for a couple hours," she says, and damned if his wife isn't hot when she's lying to a federal agent. "Dick is his best friend—and Logan's like the guy's only friend, and like my dad said, he just lost his only family yesterday. I was gonna call my dad and Wallace before we left. I don't see how this is any different. I guess his note got blown—got blown up with the car." Her voice falters at that last bit, her expression crumpling as her eyes fill with tears.

Leo frowns. "I thought you said you were talking to him just moments before the car blew up."

"I guess I was wrong, wasn't I? The blast knocked me several feet back. I must've been in shock. I didn't _see_ him get into the car. I just assumed he had." Those tears must have frozen, because Veronica's voice is arctic. "Now if it's all the same to you, I'd like some time alone with my husband. My very alive husband, as you can see."

"All right, honey," Keith says immediately, tiptoeing to kiss her cheek since she was still wrapped around Logan like a vine on a tree. "Call me if you need anything."

"Will do," Logan says. "Thanks, Keith."

"Thanks, Dad. I love you."

"Love you too, sweetie," Keith says, then after another fatherly clap on Logan's shoulder, he heads for the door. "Come on, D'Amato."

"I still need that statement," Leo says. "From both of you."

"We'll come down to the station." Logan uses a tone he normally reserves for giving orders to stubborn junior officers. "_Later_." He meets Leo stare for stare.

"Fine," the man huffs, then is (finally) gone.

Now it's just Logan and Veronica left in the room. He opens his mouth, but he's not really sure what he's going to say. But then her lips are on his, and she's kissing him like, well, like he died and came back to her. He kisses her back, pouring all reassurance and apology into it. More by memory than by sight, he walks them over to the couch, careful to avoid the heap of broken glass shards from the blown-out back windows someone—probably Keith—has helpfully swept into a pile , then sits down with her still in his arms.

Later, much later, they pull apart, breathing hard. She stares at his face as if memorizing it, then closes her eyes, leans her forehead against his, and gives a little shudder before pulling back to stare at him again.

"Now," she murmurs, "tell me how you're alive. I _know_ what happened, and Dick Casablancas didn't come over wanting to talk."

Logan holds her gaze. "No," he says slowly. "He didn't." He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "What I have to tell you about what happened… Veronica, it's not going to be easy to believe. And it's top secret."

"I don't care."

He frowns. "What?"

"I don't care." Two small hands frame his face; blue eyes rimmed with red hold his own. "I don't care if it's hard to believe. I'll believe it because you're here, and because it's you. And I don't care if it's top secret. I'm not telling anyone anything, as long as I get to keep you."

The steadiness of her gaze, the set of her lips, the slight trembling of her fingers—all these things tell him how serious she is. For once, all her walls are down, and Logan has to take a moment to wonder at the love and fear and worry all but radiating from her.

If he hadn't already decided to tell her everything, she, in this moment, would convince him to do so. He cannot but bare his soul to her.

"First of all," he says slowly, "you need to know I'm not going anywhere."

She breathes out a sigh. Lets one side of her mouth quirk up. "You bet your ass you're not, Echolls."

"It's Mars now, or once the paperwork goes through," he reminds her.

"Yeah, yeah. Now start talking, mister."

"All right." He figures the best way forward is by giving her the facts. "The truth is, I don't think I can die."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

_The idea for this was sparked by a plunny offered up by LoveObsessed2 in the VMHQ Discord Server's Plot Bunny Hutch channel._

_This fic originally appeared as part of "The Ones Where Logan Lives," posted on Archive of Our Own. The premise for the collection: Eight authors. Thirty-__six__ fanfics. One fic posted every day, starting in November, all with the same mission: save Logan Echolls._

_Cover art by the amazing jmazzy, who also runs allthevmff on Twitter. Thank you to Irma66 and CubbieGirl1723 for the beta read and also for information on S4, which I haven't actually seen (and may never, if what I've been spoiled about is only the tip of the iceberg)._

_A playlist for the collection can be found on Spotify — the song for this fic is "Counting Stars" by OneRepublic._

_As it happens, I have a few fics posted as part of the collection apart from this one: "The One with the Swords" is a _Highlander_ crossover, and "The One Where Logan Goes to TAHITI" is a crossover with _Marvel's Agents of SHIELD_ and the Avengers movies. Please do check them out here or on AO3 if and when you have the time, as well as the other amazing stories in the collection, which were written by people who actually know what they're doing!_


End file.
